


Moments in time:  Alenka

by Angsthase (Angsthase_mtg)



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Artistic cutting, Blood, Bondage, Cult of Rakdos, Do I need to mention that Rakdos does not necessarily value enthusiastic¸ informed consent?, F/F, Flogging, Gen, Non-Sexual Kink, Ravnica, Underage Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-07-20 13:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angsthase_mtg/pseuds/Angsthase
Summary: This is not a coherent story, at least not yet.  This original character has been insisting her stories need to be told, and I'm sticking up bits of them here.  You are not required to read them, and probably should go find something coherent and well-written instead. :-)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Moments in Time: Alenka" is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

Alenka looked up at the sign swinging in front of the club. It was something like a carpenter's horse, badly painted in dark red. The watery afternoon light clearly illuminated the drips and sags in the paint. Scrawled across the top bar were the words, "The Sanguine Horse". Near the bottom of each leg, the Rakdos guild symbol was pressed into the sign, whether burned or simply painted black impossible to tell from street level. This was almost certainly the place.

Alenka had never liked rules. When she had been placed in an Azorius foster home after her parents' death, she hadn't lasted three days before taking to the streets. She hadn't managed to stay there, of course, picked up again within a week. They had tried her in a Selesnyan group home, then. Two days later she was gone, and this time she had been clever enough to leave the district where everybody had known her parents, knew her, were certain of the mould into which she should be pressed. The tenth was the obvious destination -- all roads led to the tenth, after all, even those in the undercity. And she had made it, eventually. Whether it had been weeks or months away from the sun, she wasn't sure. She had found corners in which to sleep, places to get the Golgari gruel, but always moved on. The tenth district was the answer.

Now that she was here, she had forgotten the question.

Nobody knew her, nobody cared about her, and it had been glorious. It was freedom.

It was lonely, and tenuous, and Alenka was tired of hoping to find a dry corner to sleep between gruel distribution. She was tired of avoiding groups who wanted bodies, live or dead, for various purposes.

Alenka needed freedom, but she needed a place. And rumour said this place was . . . less worse than others. Rumour said the proprietor did not allow anybody to meddle with the "kids" in his household. Only a fool goes to Rakdos for safety, but Alenka knew herself for a fool.

Alenka walked around the side of the building, through the noisome alley, and found her way to a surprisingly clean courtyard. A goblin boy was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the cobbles. White sheets hung on a line, stirred restlessly by the wind. Alenka hesitated.

"What do you want?" the boy asked her, not unkindly.

"I . . . heard I might be able to find a place here?" Alenka said, her voice uncertain. The boy shrugged, and he looked back at the building. 

"Kyrie!" he yelled. A grunt came from inside the building, and a few minutes later the double door was flung open. 

The demon who emerged completely filled the door. His skin was the same dark red as the sign out front, and he wore skin tight black trousers. His torso was all defined muscles, like a hero statue, and his black horns gleamed. He looked to the goblin, who gestured towards Alenka.

Alenka tried to gather the shreds of her courage.

"What?" grunted the demon.

"Please, sir," Alenka tried, "I hoped you might have a place for me?"

The demon looked down his nose at her.

"You," he pronounced, "are a filthy little girl."

"Yes, sir," Alenka agreed, trying not to let her temper rise. He would be filthy too, if he had to hunt through sewer pipes for a safe place to sleep. It had been ages since she'd had the privacy to wash more than hands and face in runoff from the rain.

"Get cleaned up," the demon said roughly, with a thumb jerk through the door he was blocking with his bulk. "Then we'll talk." He turned to go back into the building, then looked over his shoulder at the boy scrubbing cobbles. "You, Myznar, go tell Teivel, Nerezza, and Lorelei that I'll want them in my office in half an hour."

The demon disappeared into the building. The goblin scampered after, intent on his errand. Alenka was left in the courtyard alone.

He hadn't refused yet.

Tentatively, she pushed the door open and peeked inside. 

It was a steam-filled laundry room. A minotaur man looked up from his tub when she opened the door and scowled.

"I was told to clean up?" Alenka suggested.

"I heard." The man sniffed. "Kyrie was right. You stink."

"Could you tell me where?"

Impatiently, the man gestured to the water pump in the corner, and two kettles steaming over the fire.

Alenka looked at him. The man was intent on his tub, but he was still there. She didn't see a privacy booth or even a curtain to draw.

"Could you?" she began, but he didn't wait for her to finish the sentence.

"Bucket and soap on the shelf. Your clothes are too dirty to go in this tub, but if you lay them out on the cobbles, I can empty the dirty water over them when I'm done; it will still be cleaner than they are."

Alenka blinked, and located the shelf in question. She took the bucket, dipped it half full of water from the cauldron over the fire, and pumped cold into it until the temperature was comfortable. Carefully she scrubbed her hands and face, used her hands to try to remove the worst of the tangles from her hair, then looked back at the minotaur.

The minotaur snorted, "Demon's balls, girl, you think I've never seen a human body before?"

Alenka shrugged awkwardly, and peeled out of her clothing, trying to cover herself as well as she could with arms and angles and turning away. The minotaur snorted again, and went back to his scrubbing.

It _did_ feel good to get the damp, clinging clothes off her body. Even the harsh yellow soap against her skin was a relief. She rubbed the bar between her hands, built up a lather, and scrubbed her itching scalp. She tried to dip some water over her head, but the minotaur interrupted again.

"Outside," he grunted.

Alenka took her clothes and the bucket outside, the minotaur following. She shivered in the breeze, but obeyed his gestured orders to lay out her clothing. He tipped his laundry tub over it and the runoff past her clothes was nearly black. When she tipped the bucket of still-warm water over her own hair, it wasn't much clearer.

The minotaur set about hanging his work on the only empty line. White and green silks fluttered, even still weighted with water. 

"You might as well wash your things now," he suggested, and Alenka gratefully gathered her clothes from the cobbles and scuttled back inside, using his abandoned scrub board to get them as clean as possible.

The clothes were still drying, draped over the back of a chair by the fire, when Myznar, the goblin boy, reappeared in the laundry to inquire where Alenka was; the boss was getting impatient.

Alenka followed the boy out of the laundry room, through a kitchen, and then to the main room of the club. Not giving Alenka any time to goggle at the interior of one of the famed Rakdos Diversion Clubs, Myznar wove between small tables and past a large stage, heading to Kyrie's office. He pushed open the heavy door for Alenka, but didn't announce her. Alenka had to take hold of her courage -- or maybe her pride; it was hard to tell any more -- and walk through alone.

Kyrie dominated the room, behind a solid black desk, but he wasn't alone. There was a gorgon in the corner to the left of the door; an elf dressed in flowing red silks bound in black satin cords decorated a chair to one side of the desk, and a solidly built human man in a red shirt under black vest and tunic watched from the corner behind Kyrie.

Kyrie cleared his throat, returning her attention solidly to the most immediate threat.

"Your name, girl?" he asked.

"Alenka," Alenka said, trying to keep her chin up.

"Alenka," the demon pronounced. "You think you want a place here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where are your parents?" Kyrie demanded.

"Dead," she replied shortly. She was not going to share her grief here, of all places.

"And your guardians?"

Alenka shrugged, "Couldn't keep me. I made my own way to the tenth district.

"And then decided you needed a place here? At the Sanguine Horse in particular?"

Alenka nodded.

"Why?"

"I need somewhere," Alenka said, trying to put it into words. "Food, shelter, but more than that."

"Belonging?" suggested the elf softly, drawing Alenka's attention. 

Alenka nodded, "Maybe."

"This is a Rakdos house," Kyrie said, reorienting her immediately. "You're too young to pledge a guild, surely."

"Yes, sir," Alenka admitted.

"How old are you?"

Alenka thought rapidly. Too young, too many years before she could be useful to him, and he'd be sure to reject her.

"Sixteen," she decided.

The room dimmed, as if she had been standing in a sunbeam and it had disappeared behind a cloud. Kyrie grunted disapproval.

"That will be the **last** lie you tell me," he informed her.

Alenka swallowed hard and nodded.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen," she said.

"Bleeding yet?" Kyrie asked, gesturing to his groin when she looked confused.

Alenka tried to control a blush and continue looking in the demon's eyes. "Not since my parents died," she said.

"Pregnant?"

Alenka thought about nights sleeping rough, the hunt for places she wouldn't be a target for rougher men. "I don't think so."

There were more questions. Criminal record, addictions, alcohol, debt. And then the question she had dreaded, but couldn't answer.

"So why should we take you on, girl? We're no charity, here."

Alenka searched for an answer. She'd work hard, but was that something they would value? It would help her more than it would harm them, but he'd already said it wasn't a charity. She considered prevaricating, finding reasons or excuses, or making something up. Remembered Kyrie's warning about lying to him.

"I don't know," she said.

The man leaning against the wall behind Kyrie snorted a laugh. Alenka didn't dare look at the women. She struggled to hold Kyrie's eyes, to show that she was at least strong enough for that, until the demon chuckled too.

"Fair enough," he said. "You can stay, for now."

"Thank you, sir."

"There are rules," he warned severely. "And not nonsense rules like Azorius sets, where a show of contrition will get you off. You cross me, girl, and you'll regret it."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Myznar can fill you in," he said, an obvious dismissal. He looked her over one more time. "And get something to eat; you look half-starved."


	2. Please Do Not Bleach the Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alenka has been doing her best to be useful, even gathering laundry left in public areas so she can clean it. There's no possible way that could go wrong, right?

Skora turned the leather trousers over in her hands. "Isn't this the pair I just delivered to you last week?" she asked. 

"It is," Teivel agreed. 

"What happened to them?" The dye had been unevenly bleached, and the leather was dry and cracked in those areas. 

"Laundry incident." 

"What did you do, pour bleach on them?" Skora was obviously displeased at the abuse of her handiwork. 

" _I_ got a bit of blood on them," Teivel said. "Not a major issue; give them some character. Somebody _else_ decided to remove the blood, while doing laundry." 

"How did the trousers get into the laundry?" 

"I left them in the bathing room when I went upstairs the other night. New kid gathered them up and washed them for me." He made a face. "Used that Izzet cleaner that eats blood, hung them in the sun to dry . . . very thorough." 

Skora winced. "Are they still walking?" 

Teivel scowled. "I am **not** our father," he growled. 

Skora quickly raised her hand in apology, a warding-off gesture. He softened his tone, somewhat, but it was still laced with anger. 

"I do not beat children," Teivel said, keeping his temper under control, as their father had never deigned to do. "Or you either," he added irritably. "You can put your hands down." 

Skora returned her hands to her lap deliberately. "It was meant as a joke," she informed him, as tartly as her own reflex reactions would allow her to deliver the correction. She didn't respond to any of her other clients so strongly. For all the differences between them, though, Teivel did resemble his father . . . and hard earned reflexes didn't fade quickly. 

Skora picked up her coffee from the table beside it and sipped. Teivel did the same. They weren't children, to snipe back and forth at one another; the simple and civilised actions of drinking gave them both a little space from where it was too easy to grate against a sibling. Calmer, she turned the ruined garment over in her hands. 

"You know I can't repair this, right?" she said. 

Teivel made a face, "I had suspected as much," he said. "How long until you can start a new pair?" 

Skora shrugged, "Hard to say. I don't have stock for it; most of the leather I buy is plant-tanned, and these are -- were -- sea-tanned. That means Simic, and there aren't many tanners who work with their methods and most of their output goes to merfolk. I could see if any of the Gruul smoke-tanners have something, but their quality can be inconsistent; Gruul move around too much to keep track of the ones who have the patience for good leather." 

Teivel nodded unhappily. 

"I'll do what I can," Skora promised, "but there was a reason you waited half a year for the first pair." 

"That's all I can ask," Teivel conceded. "What will it cost me?" 

"I can't do it for less than 160 zinos," Sorka told him. "I don't suppose you can take it out of your amateur launderer?" 

"I can afford it," Teivel said, "But yeah, she'll pay. One way or another." 

Sorka winced. "And in what currency?" 

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that," Teivel said. "It won't be in coin; she's too young to be allowed to interact with customers, so all the work she does only just supports her upkeep. But she needs to learn a lesson." 

Now that Sorka understood the "kid" was a literal child, her brother's earlier defensiveness made a bit more sense. "I suppose a hug and being told not to do it again would be out of the question?" 

Teivel barked a laugh, "I suspect if I tried to hug her, she'd have a heart attack." 

"That scared of you?" Skora nodded. "Does she know you know about it yet?" 

"Oh, she knows," Teivel said. "She actually came up to my rooms herself. Tapped on the door. Was standing there with them in her hands when I answered. She said she had something she needed to tell me. Came in when I invited her. Sat down. Shaking the whole time." 

"That's . . . impressive," Skora allowed. "I'm not sure I could have done that." 

Teivel nodded, "That's Alenka. She was like that when she first turned up at our door, too. Scared half to death, and not backing down from what she had decided to do. In this case, she had decided that she needed to tell me before I found out on my own." 

"That was probably wise." 

"It was," Teivel agreed. "It didn't make me less angry about the damage. But she sat there, Skora. She sat there and told me exactly what she did. She answered why, but didn't try to defend herself or put it on somebody else." 

"She took responsibility." 

"Yeah," Teivel sighed. "She took responsibility for doing the wrong thing when she had no way of knowing what the right thing was. I told her she should have asked somebody, and she agreed with me." 

"I think I might have been in tears at that point," Skora said. 

"She tried not to," Teivel shrugged. "I politely ignored them. Tears don't fix anything." 

Skora just shook her head. 

"I told her I'd decide what to do about her when I got back." Teivel sighed. "I haven't spoken to Kyrie about it yet. I don't think I want the solutions he can offer." 

"Such as?" 

" **I** don't beat children," Teivel emphasised carefully. "Kyrie's discipline is . . . uncompromising. She did damage. There is physical correction, and there is just not having a place at the Sanguine Horse any more. And I . . . " 

"You want better for her," Skora suggested. 

"She tried to take responsibility. I want her to finish that." 

"What would that look like?" 

"How would you feel about her working here for half the day, in addition to the work she does at home?" Teivel asked. 

Skora raised an eyebrow. "You do realise that parents pay _me_ to take apprentices, not vice versa, right?" 

Teivel grunted. "Yeah. I thought you might not go for it." 

"I didn't say that," Skora sighed. "What do you expect me to do with the girl? How old is she, anyway?" 

"She's fourteen," Teivel said. "As for what to do with her, whatever you want. Not necessarily teach her. Just use her. Manual labour, accounts, whatever you need. The test is whether she puts in the time, whether she continues paying until you say she's done." 

"Why does everything have to be a test?" Skora sighed. "Can't you ever just let yourself relax and allow things to _be_?" 

Teivel smiled grimly. "You don't like hearing about the way I do that." 

Skora ducked her head in agreement. She loved her brother, but certain aspects of his life were better not discussed between them. 

"I'll do it," Skora said. "Though if she spends long in my shop, I'll expect her to learn some of the trade." 

Teivel nodded. "Don't go easy on her, sis." 

"I'll run my shop in my own way," Skora said firmly. 

Teivel nodded. 

"On which noted," Skora considered, "are you worried that she'll decide she'd rather throw her lot in with a guildless leatherworker than a Rakdos diversion club?" 

Teivel shook his head. "Rakdos isn't easy, Skora, even for those of us for whom it's the only real choice. If somebody can be dissuaded from joining, they should be." 


	3. The Pain Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not even a beta version; it's strictly in alpha testing. 
> 
> Please, if you feel like leaving feedback, go for "comment" rather than "kudos"? I'd like to know _what_ you found worthy (or unworthy) about it, not just that the overall product gave a positive impression.

"Come in," Lorelei called in answer to the tap on her door, and she smiled as Alenka hip-bumped it open, her arms full of clean laundry. Lorelei held the door open, letting the younger woman pass into her private studio, then leaned against the door as it closed behind her. 

"Alenka," she said warmly, "I'm so glad to see you." Lorelei had been waiting several days for an opportunity to catch Alenka alone, and had begun preparations for this encounter since she had seen Alenka bringing in the laundry when Lorelei had gone down to the kitchen for a late breakfast. 

"Hmm?" Alenka asked distractedly, setting the laundry down on the chest at the end of Lorelei's bed and turning to hang the diaphanous faux-Selesnyan robes with the rest of Lorelei's costumes. 

"I wonder if you'd be willing to help me practise, this afternoon," Lorelei invited, keeping the warmth in her voice and a smile on her face. 

Alenka stopped in her tracks, turning to look at the elf as if stricken. Lorelei maintained her friendly, open expression, as well as her position against the door. She waited, watching the younger woman struggle for words. Made the effort not to laugh at the ones she found. 

"Will it hurt?" Alenka managed. 

Lorelei just looked the girl, keeping her smile gentle. Lorelei was a pain artist, and an extremely skilled one. 

Despite having been part of the household for the past five years and more, Alenka had never had never taken the opportunity to explore the art that was the house's literal stock in trade. She had been only thirteen years old when she joined them, ridiculously young even for a human. By the rules of the house, nobody had made any attempt to offer her such experiences as long as she was underage . . . but she had recently finished her fifth year as part of the household, and that had changed things. 

Mostly, it had changed a young woman of growing confidence in her place to one who was jumpy and avoided meeting people's eyes, as if she expected to be forced to participate in the diversions offered by the diversion club in which she lived, or turned out for any minor infraction. She had continued performing the tasks as she had before her majority, laundry and cleaning, shopping and cooking, figuring the accounts, tasks that almost all the household members worked at need. She had also continued following the restrictions placed on her as a child, staying in the back of the house during operating hours, as if this would prevent anybody else from noticing that the rules protecting her from their attentions had lapsed. Alenka was not venturing out of the kitchen to wait tables, let alone to appreciate the nature of the shows the Sanguine Horse was known for providing. 

"Protecting" minors from any interaction with the customers was necessary to keep the Azorius enforcers satisfied and the cost of bribes to a reasonable level. It was also good sense, not attracting customers who were interested in children or animals; their money was never worth the hassle they brought with them. But it seemed that assiduously avoiding something for the past five years had left the girl -- no, the young woman -- afraid of it all out of proportion to the reality. Lorelei had half expected the girl to abandon the household, some time over the past few weeks, but something seemed to hold her. Lorelei could understand that; the Sanguine Horse was _home_. 

"How _much_ will it hurt?" Alenka amended her question clumsily. 

Lorelei sighed and shook her head. The simple, professional answer came easily to Lorelei's mind: _As much as you can endure . . . and then a little bit more._ It was true, but that was the truth to offer young men emboldened by drink and friends, the ones for whom the edge of threat threading through the reply was just further titillation. For Alenka, however, a different truth was in order. 

"It's not about how much it hurts," Lorelei explained gently. "Pain artistry isn't like a trader packing a mule until the beast can barely move. It's not about how much I can layer on to you. It's about what I can draw _out_ of you." 

Alenka did not look convinced. Ultimately, Lorelei knew, it was not her responsibility to convince the girl; all she could do was try to help the younger woman see the same beauty she saw. 

"Let me show you," Lorelei's voice made it an offer, not a command, and she moved towards Alenka with her customary, but very deliberately polished, elfin grace. 

Alenka's eyes went to the door. Oh, yes, the woman _had_ been aware of being blocked in by Lorelei's position against it. It still wasn't certain that she could dodge past the elf to reach the door; they'd spent enough time sparring together for both of them to know how quickly Lorelei could respond. But maybe Alenka could get past now, out of the clean, sunlit studio, but then what? Where would she go? Lorelei had laid the trap well, even if it were one woven of of silk and smiles and uncertain alternatives. 

Lorelei was very good at finding the edge of what those callow young men could bear, tracing its edges and drawing them further. And even in her fear, Alenka was helping her practise that skill; not every limit Lorelei explored was a physical one. She supposed very few of them were. 

"I guess," Alenka said, uncertain assent. 

Lorelei rewarded her with a warm smile. "Excellent," she said, and put a gentle hand on Alenka's shoulder to guide her towards the work table, angling her away from a clear view of the sideboard that held the tools she had previously laid out. 

The work table was twin to one downstairs, narrow top of padded red leather, ebony legs providing firm support, horseshoe shaped pillow to support the subject's faced. Lorelei had already removed the cushions that provided a flat surface for the torso, leaving open space for Alenka's breasts beneath her if she lay on her stomach. The table itself shouldn't scare Alenka; she had cleaned and polished its mate many times. The prospect of lying on it, perhaps more so. 

"You'll want to take off your vest and top," Lorelei said easily, moving past Alenka to drape one of the freshly laundered linen sheets over the table and place a folded towel in a basin. 

Alenka did not look like she wanted to take off her vest and top. 

"Now, Alenka," Lorelei said more firmly, pouring steaming water from a kettle into the basin. 

Alenka complied, turning her back on the elf in a demonstration of body-shyness that she hadn't displayed in years. It was definitely past time to do something about this new hesitancy. Without more resistance, she climbed onto the table, her arms settling easily on the shelf below the headrest, but she flinched when Lorelei placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

"How are you doing?" Lorelei asked softly, allowing real concern to show through the smiles and persuasion. 

Alenka shrugged, "How am I supposed to be doing?" 

So many possible answers to that. Lorelei pursed her lips. 

"You could be curious, finally getting to learn part of what attracts people to The Sanguine Horse. Excited, probably, heart racing . . ." 

Alenka shook her head. 

"You could be confident in my skills, my competence, your safety," and there was a little more force behind it. 

"I have no doubt of your skills," Alenka blurted quickly. 

Pain Artist, she didn't say, but Lorelei didn't have to be a mind reader to see it written in the tension of the younger woman's muscles. She considered the possibility of restraints. Another gentle touch, a hand brushing the hair off Alenka's neck, and another involuntary jerk. 

"How much of a challenge is it," Lorelei asked, "lying there, not knowing what's coming? How much do you want to run, right now?" 

She saw the words hit home in the way the woman's shoulders jerked upwards. 

"It's hard," Alenka admitted. 

Lorelei nodded to herself, taking out wide leather straps. "Let's do something to make that easier." Carefully, she wrapped the bands around Alenka's arms, over and around the shelf supporting them. The girl tried to resist, once she realised what was happening, but it was far too late for anything effective. With another pat on the shoulder, Lorelei took two well-worn cuffs down towards the girl's feet. 

"What?" Alenka put words to her struggling. "Why?" 

"You don't need to be fighting yourself," Lorelei explained quietly. Firm but gentle hands wrapped a cuff around first one ankle, then the other. Strong cord attached the cuffs to rings set into the table's legs. "You can fight the restraints without hurting yourself, without putting yourself in harm's way." Lorelei smiled, "Also without actually going anywhere." 

Alenka did struggle. Some people did, Lorelei knew, and gave her time to convince herself that she was quite secure. 

"And in the end," Lorelei continued, her voice soothing, "you're still exactly where you had chosen to be. Lying on the table, ready to explore something new with me." 

"I don't feel ready," Alenka mumbled. 

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Lorelei told her. "Now, the subject of pain . . . what do you know about it?" 

"As little as I can?" Alenka offered. "It hurts. It warns us not to do something, to get away." She tugged on the restraints pointedly. Lorelei smiled to herself; even just being restrained, being unable to avoid what scared her, seemed to be giving Alenka some of her courage back. 

"It can," Lorelei agreed, checking the temperature of the water in the basin. "It's also very context dependent." Satisfied, Lorelei draped the wet towel across Alenka's back. The girl yelped on contact. 

"I'm sure you've had the experience," Lorelei continued, "Of brushing against a bowl and reflexively pulling away, thinking it would burn you. And also of being able to pick up the same bowl, with the only difference being that you knew to expect the heat." 

Lorelei swabbed the bound woman's back with the wet towel; the skin was pink with heat, but certainly not burned. She rubbed in soft soap, then wiped it away with another warm towel. "So much is expectation," she concluded. 

"And pain, or its suggestion, focuses attention beautifully." She scrubbed her own hands, then ran a single fingernail down Alenka's spine, not even firmly enough to scratch, but the girl shivered as her fear found a focal point. 

"One of the reasons for the restraints," Lorelei continued, "Is because I will be cutting this lovely skin of yours, and we don't want you jerking into the blade." 

That was just right, the pattern of tension across her shoulders, the suppressed whimper. Anticipation, even fear, but not panic. 

"You can take much more than you think you can," Lorelei assured her, removing a round-tipped steel stylus from a beaker of icy water. Lightly, she traced a spiral in the small of the girl's back, a curving line up over her spine. Yes, she pressed _into_ the surface, staying very still, as her body interpreted the thin trail of cold as a cutting blade. A few droplets of water rolled from the line, and Lorelei knew that in the ambiguity it would pass for blood. 

"You feel that?" Lorelei prompted. "The way all your attention, everything in the world, narrows to this one line of sensation?" She replaced the first stylus to chill again, took up another one and moved the actual blade within easy reach. "Can you let yourself notice how lovely it is, how the only thing is the blade, and the connection?" 

Resting her other hand on Alenka's back, Lorelei drew the other stylus parallel to the girl's spine, complicated patterns, feeling for the way her muscles trembled as she fought to stay still. Soft words guided Alenka's attention. 

"Can you see the artistry, now? Where pain separates from crude hurting, and is just more _sensation_?" 

And yes, the girl nodded. Her breathing was fast, but steady. Carefully, Lorelei picked up the surgeon's scalpel and ran the tip lightly over Alenka's skin. A light curve over her shoulder, and the tension under Lorelei's hand stayed the same. Excellent. 

"So many things can change the sensation, too," Lorelei explained, tracing the line again, deeper. Blood welled within the cut this time, but Alenka didn't twitch. Lorelei kept talking. 

"Finer blades or broader, different angles." These actual cuts were shorter than she had drawn with the stylus, curving lines defining legs and neck, mane and tail. A small piece, not complicated, but the beauty was in Alenka's reaction. The slow transition through fear to fascination was a core of Lorelei's art, and Alenka was a beautiful canvas. 

A few more strokes with the scalpel, defining the face, the neck, and a literally sanguine horse adorned the young woman's shoulder. "You're doing very well," Lorelei told her, voice warm with honest admiration. She was good at guiding new clients, but Alenka had risen to the challenge admirably. She slid her off hand from the small of the girl's back to her uninjured shoulder and withdrew with a reassuring squeeze. 

"There are different flavours of pain, of course," Lorelei said, carefully wiping down the blade with distilled spirits as she watched Alenka's reactions carefully. "I love the sharpness, the precision of the blade, but there's much more to explore." She poured some of the spirits into a clean beaker and immersed an artist's brush in them. 

"You've done so well," she said, "I think you can take more. Will you do that for me? 

"Mmm?" Alenka replied fuzzily. Yes, she had found that lovely floaty space where pain was different. 

"Good girl," Lorelei told her, setting the beaker nearby. A steadying hand between her shoulder blades, Lorelei held the brush above the blood-limned pattern and allowed a drop of spirits to fall. 

Alenka hissed through her teeth when it hit, jerking into Lorelei's steadying hand. 

"That's right," Lorelei reassured her. "It's different, the burning, but you can find the centre." She waited as Alenka rode through the curve of the alcohol's burn. Alenka took a shaky breath. 

"It burns," Lorelei said, "but it cleans the wound. You can feel the burn as it burns out any possibility of infection." There were other ways, Lorelei knew, ones that hurt less and would reduce the chances of scarring . . . but every word she said was true, and the different qualities of pain were something to explore, to learn to process. "Are you ready?" 

Alenka took another shaky breath. "I guess." 

Lorelei used a delicate hand with the brush, but this wasn't a single drop. The horse was perhaps the size of her palm, and she gently traced each line with the alcohol loaded brush, but the spirits penetrated, seeming to burn deeper than the cutting had. Alenka's shoulders tensed involuntarily, the movement of muscles under skin breaking open bits that had previously dried closed. Lorelei watched as the intensity peaked and started to fade, then retraced the lines. Alenka whimpered softly. 

"It's okay," Lorelei soothed. "Let it go. All the fear, all the need to fight and escape and resist. It's just pain. It just **is**." She traced the lines again, and could feel Alenka let go. Shaky breathing and all, she let herself feel the intensity, and feel it fade. 

Lorelei put the brush back in the beaker and set them both aside. Alenka lay trembling on the table, still restrained but not even trying to move. 

Lorelei waited until the younger woman's breathing had calmed to ask, "How are you doing?" 

"Okay?" Alenka said, but it came out as a question. "Did I do okay?" 

"You did very well," Lorelei assured her. "I'm going to release you now. Just lie quietly until I'm done." 

The elf worked efficiently, hanging the sweat-dampened restraints on the back of a chair to dry. With gentle hands, she steadied Alenka as the human climbed off the table. 

"It can be normal to be a bit unsteady after an intense experience," she assured the woman, and guided her to a place on the sofa. "Take a few moments to sit. I'll make tea." 

The same kettle that had sterilised the scalpel before use served to make two cups of tea, and Lorelei deliberately drizzled just a little too much honey into Alenka's. She set the teacups on the table, then opened a tin of biscuits. Watching Alenka over the edge of the teacup, she was satisfied to see the girl regaining a little of her colour. 

"So, what did you think?" Lorelei asked, after the girl had finished two biscuits and half her tea. 

Alenka swallowed. "Umm. So. That's what you do? Pain artistry?" 

Lorelei shrugged, "Some of it. A lot depends on my partner, what will give them the experience they need." 

"Did I . . . _need_ that experience?" Alenka asked. 

Lorelei returned her gaze steadily. "Did you?" 

Alenka looked away. "I didn't think I did." 

"And now?" 

"I don't know." 

"That's fair." Lorelei sipped her own tea. "You can be proud of how well you did, though." 

"Can I? I was . . ." Alenka gestured vaguely. 

"You can," Lorelei said firmly. 

More silence. Alenka shifted. "May I ask a question?" 

"Of course." 

"What would have happened if I'd said no? To helping you practice?" 

Lorelei smiled warmly, "I would have let you go, of course. But you were never going to say no." 

"Is it going to happen again?" 

"The invitation? Probably." Lorelei kept her tone light, but watched Alenka's reaction closely. "How do you feel about that?" 

Alenka considered it. "I don't know, yet." 

"That's fair," Lorelei allowed. 

"Are you going to tell the others?" Alenka wondered. 

"What, as if it were some sort of rite of passage?" Lorelei laughed gently. "No, my choice of practice partners is my own." She drank more tea. "You're welcome to talk about it, if you need to. Either with me, or somebody else." 

"What if . . . I wanted to try it again?" Alenka hesitated. "Not that I would, necessarily." 

Lorelei smiled. "You can ask. I might say no, or not now, but you're allowed to ask." 

"Okay, then," Alenka said, gulping the rest of her tea. "I guess I should . . ." she gestured to the door. 

"You might want to put your top back on first?" 

Alenka blushed, but she put her top back on and slipped out of the studio. 

_Well,_ Lorelei thought to herself, tidying away the tea things, _that went well._


	4. Teaching Him a Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balazs thinks he understands how Diversion Houses work, but he might not understand as much as he thinks.

Despite a cold winter drizzle outside, the kitchen at the Sanguine Horse was cozy. A rich stew was simmering over the fire, and Alenka was folding ground meat and onion mixture into hand pies for the evening's custom as Myznar worked the dough. Between them, even with all the ingredients laid out, they took up less than a quarter of the large table. Prezhlek was doing the mending by the window, taking advantage of the thin daylight, and Lorelei was breakfasting at the unused end of the table. 

Balazs shoved through the door, hands full with loaves from the baker down the road, and Alenka jumped as the door banged against the wall. Lorelei looked up from her cheese and spinach pie and sighed. 

"You do need to be less jumpy," she chided gently. 

"Sorry," Alenka said, head down, folding pastry around another pie. "I might still be getting used to the idea that I'm surrounded by people who would happily hurt me for fun. And they can do it, now." 

Lorelei sighed. When she'd suggested to Kyrie that he address the issue with the girl, the demon had just shrugged and said, "She's an adult now; she can make her own choices, same as everybody else." While true, she felt like Alenka could use a little more support in coming to terms with being able to refuse. 

"It's true," Lorelei said carefully, "that most of us would be perfectly happy to hurt you, and enjoy sharing that experience with you, but nobody is going to just do so spontaneously. At the very least, they'll tell you first and give you a chance to veto it." 

Alenka's eyes went automatically to the truncated stock whip on the back of the kitchen door. 

Lorelei nodded, "Actual punishment excepted, yes. But that's not going to be a sudden surprise, either." 

Alenka nodded acceptance, shoulders still tense, and continued folding pies efficiently. Balazs finished shelving the fresh bread, and grabbed an apple, a boiled egg, and hunk of cheese before claiming a chair at the table. He peeled the egg, tossing the shell into the flames, and sliced the apple with his belt knife. 

Lorelei had finished her meal and was getting ready to head upstairs when Balazs made his move. He finished his cheese and tossed his apple core into the vermiculture bin, then walked up to Alenka and laid a friendly hand on her shoulder. 

"Oh, Alenka," he said easily, "I've decided to hurt you now. Would you like to use that veto?" 

"What‽" cried Alenka, pulling away. "Why‽ No!" 

"No veto?" he smiled, his arm restricting her retreat. "Excellent. Just come this way, then. No, no trying to back out now. You already declined to use the veto, remember?" 

Alenka stammered, but was acceding to the pressure of his arm. Lorelei frowned. Behind the pair, Teivel slipped into the kitchen, quietly hanging his wet cloak beside the fire. 

"Balazs!" the elf said sharply. 

"What?" the young man asked, though he removed his hand from Alenka's shoulder. "It was funny." 

"It was not," Lorelei disagreed, trying to formulate an effective response. 

"It was hilarious when Teivel said it last night!" Balazs argued, not having noticed the other man yet. 

"What was?" Teivel asked, curiously. 

Balazs jumped, but spun to face the larger man. "The bit with the veto. The guy said no when you said you were going to use him as an example, and would he like to veto it, and then he said no meaning he didn't want to do it, and you . . . " 

Teivel chuckled, "Ah, right. The Boros drill sergeant. He was fun to break." 

Lorelei nodded; the scene had occupied the main stage; she'd seen a bit and it had gone over well. "Certainly," she said, "with a Boros drill sergeant. Perhaps less so with others." 

"Azorius should work too," Teivel said. "Arresters. Anybody with that sort of power, it's great fun to pull it out from under them." 

Lorelei shook her head, lips tight. 

"No?" Teivel asked. "Who, then?" 

"Alenka," Lorelei said shortly. 

"Alenka?" Teivel looked at her. The girl took a step back, eyes darting to the side as if looking for escape. He frowned. " _Our_ Alenka?" 

"Yes," Lorelei said flatly. 

Teivel was good at controlling his anger, but it was still an intimidating force. His attention turned back to Balazs. "You thought _that_ line would be a good choice to use with a woman both younger and smaller than you are?" 

"It was funny?" Balazs attempted, lamely. 

"No," Teivel said, controlled anger in his voice. "If you believe that, you don't understand funny at all." 

"Alenka, sweetheart," Lorelei said quietly, "come over here with me, please." 

The girl hesitated, and Lorelei could see her shaking. 

"Teivel," Lorelei said firmly, accepting responsibility to guide the situation, "you're scaring her." 

"I'm not angry with _her_ ," Teivel growled. 

"And _I_ know that," Lorelei replied. "What I know isn't the issue." 

Teivel looked at Alenka again. Lorelei was right; the girl wasn't doing well. He deliberately took a breath and moderated his tone. 

"It's okay," he told her. "I'm not going to hurt you. Go sit with Lorelei, please. I need to have a word with Balazs." 

Alenka went. Teivel turned his attention to the younger man. 

"One of the things you need to understand about Rakdos is the way the power flows. Almost everybody looks down on us, even if they're afraid of us. That gives us a lot of leeway. But for humour, you punch _up_ , not down. 

"When the Rakdos entertainer takes a high and mighty official, an arrester or a drill sergeant, and takes away their power, that's funny. It upends the expected power dynamic. You remember how he blustered and fought?" 

Balazs nodded, much more subdued with the pain artist's full attention on him. 

"Watching the powerful scramble for control and lose is funny because most of the audience is weaker than they are. But that only works with somebody who has that formal authority and is trying to wield it." 

"You want to try that line, you try it on Kyrie. You try it on me. Maybe you try it on Prezhlek." 

The minotaur glowered from the corner. Balazs blanched. 

"I wouldn't dare," the young man said. 

Teivel nodded brusquely. "That's how you know you should do it. If you actually think you can get away with it, without consequences, it's not going to work." 

Lorelei stroked Alenka's hand gently with a thumb. Quietly she said, "May I use you as an example, when he runs down?" 

Alenka shivered. 

"It's okay," Lorelei reassured her. "You can say no. But I think it would help." 

"I guess," Alenka agreed. 

Balazs was not holding up any better under Teivel's scrutiny. He tried to object, "But you . . ." 

"I have a lot of power _in this house_ ," Teivel interrupted. "Opportunities like that drill sergeant don't come up often. You have to remember that, when putting on a show with audience volunteers, the audience will almost always sympathise with the volunteers over the performers. Ideally, we want our volunteers to come back, and we want the audience to wish they had volunteered." 

"You . . . usually hurt your volunteers," Balazs pointed out tentatively. 

"And most of the folks around _my_ stage wish it were them," Teivel agreed. "Has nobody explained this to you before?" 

Balazs shook his head. 

"I thought you said you were experienced," Teivel grumbled. 

"I thought I was," Balasz said, and somehow managed to reach the right level of bewilderment, because Teivel relented a little. 

"Sit tonight. Watch the people around my stage. See if you can spot the volunteers I pick out before I do." 

Lorelei squeezed Alenka's hand reassuringly before inserting herself into the conversation. 

"There are ways to tell," the elf said. "Look at the way they're sitting -- upright, or leaning a little forward. Eye contact. When he asks if anybody wants to play cards, look for those whose eyes widen, who sit up straighter." 

"When I get the volunteers who want to be there," Teivel agreed, "We get a better show. About half my audience wishes they were the ones tied to the post; the other half wishes they were brave enough to wish that." 

"Part of your error with Alenka," Lorelei said, holding the girl's hand to discourage fleeing, "Is that she's not in the first group. If she were an audience member at all, she would be one of the one who's here because she's curious, not because she's eager." 

"How do you deal with that?" Balazs asked, looking back to Teivel. 

"I don't," Teivel said simply. "I would never choose Alenka from the audience. _Look_ at her!" 

Alenka hunched back in her chair, looking at Lorelei's knee rather than meeting anybody's eyes. 

"Everything about this is avoidance," Lorelei said softly. "The same as when she pulled away when your arm was around her shoulder." 

"She's just sitting there, though?" Balazs said. "Not pulling away or anything?" 

Lorelei nodded, "That's true. And there's a chance that it's because she's afraid to do so -- that she believes she would be less safe if she pulled away than if she endured whatever I might do. And that's a problem." Her voice got even softer, with, "Alenka, sweetheart. Look at me, please?" 

Alenka complied, tears visible in her eyes. She was very aware of all five sets of eyes watching her, but Lorelei held her focus. 

"One of the important things for you to know," and her voice was loud enough that Prezhlek could hear it where he sat watching from the corner, but the tone said she was talking to Alenka alone, "is that you can say no, and it will still be safe. You need to know that nothing bad will happen if you say no, because you can't really say yes unless you're able to say no." 

Alenka nodded. 

"Are you willing to go ahead?" 

Another nod. 

Lorelei smiled gently. "Then the next step is to determine why you're willing to go ahead, so I can use that to support you when it gets challenging. And I might start with a guess, that perhaps you're curious?" 

Alenka nodded uncertainly. 

"You've never been in the main room during business hours, rarely gone near it during practice. I know I'd be awfully curious about what happens, about what it would be like to experience it. Especially if I knew I could be safe when doing so. Does that sound right?" 

Alenka shrugged, ducked her head, ambiguous agreement. "It's going to hurt," she mumbled. 

Lorelei looked at the girl carefully. They had discussed this before, but . . . 

"What I'm teaching today," Lorelei said softly, "Is mostly fear management. Helping you enjoy something even when you're nervous going in. And part of that is not forcing you further that you can enjoy. Would it help if I said that today will be more about sensation than pain?" 

Alenka nodded hesitantly. 

"And maybe you're not sure what that means." 

She nodded again. 

"And that's okay." Lorelei turned to her audience, explaining, "What Teivel does very well is taking control away from his partners. And he wouldn't partner with our Alenka because she doesn't have the control to spare; we need to build up somebody who comes in asking for more than they can handle without help. It's a much more subtle show, certainly not something we want on the main stage. Sometimes you might choose a cubicle rather than one of the side stages, even. But it can be incredibly powerful." 

A gentle touch on Alenka's cheek refocused the young woman's attention. 

"Shall we go into the other room, then?" Lorelei suggested softly, and Alenka easily followed her lead, with Myznar, Prezhlek, Balazs, and Teivel following behind. Teivel's hand was firm between Balazs's shoulder blades, providing guidance and motivation to pay close attention. 

As they passed the business office, Kyrie peered out to see what was happening; Teivel answered his querying look with a curt, "Teaching." Kyrie nodded, and quietly found a seat behind where Teivel and Balazs settled. Zoya left off polishing the leather on the main stage's horse and also joined the impromptu audience. Hila peered curiously as she moved from one of the side cubicles to another with her stack of bed linens before deciding to set them aside for the moment and watch. On the small stage, the one equipped with the X cross, Lorelei was continuing the demonstration. 

"Part of building strength in your partner," she explained, "is allowing them to make choices. Now, Alenka knows where the whips are, so I can ask her to go select a nice flogger for this demonstration." She patted the girl's back softly, sending her along, and continued to address the rest of her audience. "There is a slim chance that your subject will keep going, if you ask them to do this . . . and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Dealing with somebody who feels trapped and unable to escape is difficult, if you don't want to do permanent damage. Better to let them choose to come back." 

The flogger Alenka brought back was black and red, with heavy tails of soft leather. Teivel recognised his sister's work. 

Lorelei smiled as Alenka passed her the tool, handle first. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" she asked, and Alenka shook her head. "This is an excellent choice." 

"What makes . . ." Balazs started to ask, but Teivel shushed him firmly. 

"Later," the man said, in a tone that didn't invite discussion. "Never interrupt another person's scene." 

Lorelei tested the weight of the tails against her hand before helping the younger woman remove her top and positioning her against the cross. Wide wrist cuffs held her hands overhead, spread to the bars of the cross, and Lorelei adjusted the position of her feet for better balance. A gentle hand rested over Alenka's recently healed shoulder, and the elf spoke softly, private reassurance. "Sensation, not pain, remember?" 

Alenka nodded, taking a deliberate deep breath. 

"Very good." 

Lorelei swung the flogger in a slow overhand circle, barely enough force to bring the tails to the top of the curve, allowing gravity to guide them down across Alenka's right shoulder and across her back. The girl tensed at contact, and Lorelei watched her cycle through expectation, realisation, relaxation. Another slow arc, this time hitting the left shoulder. Less tension on impact, faster relaxation, letting go of the expectation of pain. Lorelei repeated the cycle, alternating shoulders, watching as Alenka learned to relax with the rhythm of it. 

Lorelei increased the intensity only slightly, a firm massage pressure and moderate tempo, before slowing and stopping, a steadying hand back on the girl's shoulder, helping her reorient as the elf released the wrist cuffs. 

"The most important thing for her to know, coming out of an experience like this, is that she did well. Teivel teaches those with high power that they won't always win, but this is about building confidence and capacity. She did well. If she comes back, she may try more. But she went in scared, and . . . Alenka, how are you feeling now?" 

Alenka shrugged, a bit embarrassed at the audience, "I'm okay." 

Lorelei nodded, "And being okay, when they didn't think they would be, is what these clients need from us most. You want to stop when they could still easily take more, building their trust in your judgement and their own competence." 

Balazs looked to Teivel for permission before asking, "But why are they here at all, these clients, if they don't really want what we do?" 

"A fair question," Lorelei allowed. She sat on the edge of the stage, still close enough to keep an eye on Alenka, but a better position for conversation with the others, as well. "They're not the most common. Often, it will be somebody who admitted to friends that they were interested or curious, and the friends have decided to be 'helpful' by arranging a professional session the actual client wouldn't have dared. Sometimes it's deliberate cruelty, manoeuvring a less popular classmate into a situation to watch them fail. Always watch the power dynamics in groups." 

"If you're not sure you can do it," Teivel added, "say no. I'm not sure about where you grew up, but here we're expected to take responsibility for ourselves, and decline things we can't safely do. Lorelei is good with the nervous newcomers; I don't have anywhere near her level of skill, so I don't accept their money. Ideally, we want to be able to serve most of the people who come through the door, but we do that best by playing to our strengths rather than insisting each person do everything." 

"That's . . . different," Balazs admitted; he couldn't imagine his mother being allowed to just refuse a client. It was beginning to seem that most of what he'd learned growing up in a guildless diversion club had not prepared him for a place in Rakdos, or at least not at the Sanguine Horse. 

"You had another question, earlier?" Teivel prompted. 

"Oh," Balazs said, "I was just going to ask what made it such a good choice." 

"Go over to the cabinet, yourself, and bring back the least intimidating tool you can find." Lorelei suggested, "Alenka, bring the flogger you chose and sit down here, please." 

Balazs made his way over to the cabinet, a suitably intimidating piece of dark oak and black iron hardware, and considered the contents. At the right end hung heavy, single-tailed whips; he had seen them raise angry red welts before, when Teivel caught somebody cheating at cards. Single straps, some with split ends, were next to those, then there were the leather floggers like the one Alenka had chosen, some with heavier strands and some with lighter, the number of strands becoming fewer and the colours softer as his eye moved to the left. One with only a handful of light brown thongs caught his eye, but he considered further. 

At the leftmost end was a tool with a beautifully shaped wooden handle and a cascade of pale rubber strands, obviously Selesnyan work. Beside it was a piece that looked like a horse's tail mounted on a handle, dyed a pale blue. Next to that was one with a jewel-set handle, its thin cords adorned with beads that caught the light. He reached out to touch those three; the rubber was soft and springy, the cords on the jeweled one were light and flexible, and the hair was simply hair. 

"You're taking too long," Lorelei called. "If you were a client, you'd be losing face in front of your friends, for hesitating over the decision, and they hate losing face. Just pick one, already." 

Balazs supposed the beads on the one flogger would hit harder, like pebbles tossed at a window. On the other hand, this entire set-up was obviously a trap, judging by Alenka's more intimidating selection being the good choice. Sighing, he grabbed the light blue hair flogger, and headed back to the stage. 

Several metres away, Balazs took time to adjust his position; he might as well do this correctly. Back straight and eyes on the floor, he approached Lorelei with the flogger resting on upturned palms, wrists together. He extending his arms to present it to her, not making eye contact. Only when she lifted it from his hands did he risk half a glance up. 

The elf looked more amused than impressed. 

"Okay," Lorelei said, "This is actually an interesting choice." And then, when Balazs kept his gaze respectfully averted, "If you'll sit down and engage, this will work better than if you continue trying to play a submissive role for me. I'm trying to teach here, not play fantasy games." 

Balazs flushed, but he sat back down and looked up at her. It seemed like everything he was trying to do today was going wrong. 

"Better," Lorelei approved. "Now, this one actually isn't the worst choice. Used lightly, I can very much get gentle sensation from this tool. At the stronger end, though . . . " She considered. "Would you prefer the lecture version, or the demonstration?" 

Balazs grimaced. He'd left the club where he grew up because he wanted to be the person throwing the whip, not its victim, but how would it look to refuse something Alenka had just handled? 

"If you're not comfortable with Lorelei," Teivel suggested from beside him, "I could show you how they feel, myself." 

Balazs blanched. "That won't be necessary," he stammered quickly. "Thank you for your offer?" He didn't suppose there was much chance it would work, but how much more could it hurt to try? 

Teivel affected a hurt look. "Why is everybody so terrified of me?" he asked plaintively. 

Lorelei looked at the big man pityingly. "Because for the last thirty years, you've cultivated a rather intimidating reputation," she told him. 

"Sure, for the _clients_ ," Teivel conceded. "But these two are practically family. They should know me better." 

Lorelei hopped lightly down from the stage and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Give them time," she said gently. "We can talk about it later, okay?" 

Teivel nodded, and Lorelei drew up a chair so she could sit knee to knee with Balazs. 

"So, lecture mode?" she asked. 

Balazs nodded mutely. With the showy part over, Hila quietly returned to making up the beds in the side cubicles. 

Lorelei hefted the light blue flogger. "This is horsehair. Each strand is very light, though a little rough. You can get somewhere in the sensual-itchy-tickly range when you use it lightly enough." She casually passed the flogger back to Balazs. "You can try it for yourself." 

Balazs ran the strands over his bare arm, and nodded. 

"Thin strands like this will tend to sting, if you use more force," Lorelei continued. "With the texture of the individual hairs, a strong enough swing will make tiny cuts in the skin. They'll still heal within a few hours, but a lot of people find the sharp sting a lot harder to handle than a more diffuse sensation." She didn't press him to try a harder strike, and he didn't volunteer it, just nodding his understanding. 

Lorelei held out a hand to Alenka, who passed the black and red leather piece. Lorelei passed it on to Balazs, accepting the horsehair in return and keeping it in her lap. 

"That one's doeskin," the elf explained as Balazs fondled the individual straps that made up the flogger. "It's fairly soft at the worst of times, and those wider strands mean the impact is diffused across a wider area, like hitting with the side of a blade rather than the edge. Generally, we talk about it feeling thuddy, rather than stinging, and most people find that they can process it relatively easily as long as we ramp up slowly." 

"You were going easy on me, though, weren't you?" interjected Alenka. 

Lorelei glanced aside at the girl, "A little. I topped out at about half the level of force I could have used. Next time, if you choose, you can go further and see how much you can enjoy. This time, most of the work you were doing was mental." 

"So it doesn't really count," Alenka said. 

Lorelei frowned. "It counts. The mental work is often the hardest work we have to do. Just like you had to cook the meat for the pies last night, to assemble them today, we have to do mental groundwork before we can explore the physical." 

Alenka nodded, and Lorelei turned her attention back to Balazs. 

"You can try things when you're ready. It's good to understand how things feel before you use them on other people. But nobody is going to trick or force you into it, any more than we'd let you do it to our Alenka. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, ma'am," Balazs said. 

Lorelei looked at him closely, then patted his hand gently. "Try to believe it," she said, rising. "It's true." 

Balazs nodded as he watched her head into the back hall and out of sight, probably upstairs to her apartments. He looked around, and Teivel was still watching him. Zoya had already returned to polishing leather, and at some point Myznar and Prezhlek had returned to the kitchen. Balazs shrugged awkwardly, not sure what to say. 

Teivel just nodded. "It's true," he repeated, before heaving himself to his feet. "Put that away, will you?" 

"A moment, Teivel," Kyrie said, as Balazs walked back to the whips cupboard. 

"Hmm?" grunted the human man. 

"This, education session," the demon asked. "Is there anything I should know about what prompted it?" 

Teivel looked for Alenka, and found her helping Zoya with the furniture, rubbing a wax paste into the exposed wood. He shrugged. 

"Nah," Teivel said. "Boy made a mistake. I don't think it will happen again." He thought about it for a moment. "At least not the same mistake." 

"Good enough," Kyrie said. "And good work on the teaching, too. Glad to see it doesn't all fall on Lorelei." 

Kyrie headed back to his office; Teivel took himself upstairs. Had he been slacking on his responsibilities to the newer members of the household? He tried to pull his weight, but Lorelei was just so much better at connecting with them than he was. Maybe she'd have time to talk before the Sanguine Horse opened for the evening. 


End file.
